


Look Only At Me

by Ceminar



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Chucklevoodoos, M/M, MadCarnival Petfish AU, Masturbation, Mer!Cro, Mer!Cronus, Nook!Cronus, Shark biology?, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-02-10 02:14:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2007132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceminar/pseuds/Ceminar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You've been staying with these trolls for a long while. They have been kind. They have helped you, fed you, kept you safe. You like it here. You like them. One of them especially. He comes, and you wish he would look at you differently. At you, and only you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Look Only At Me

**Author's Note:**

> I. Suck. At. Summaries. BUT! This piece was submitted by me to the wonderful [MadCarnival and based off a certain group of images from their Petfish AU that you should totally check out.](http://madcarnival.tumblr.com/post/91067765119/madcarnival-im-creating-a-cute-au-for-once-and) Also. I'm not even sorry.

You heard his voice before you see him, standing on the other side of your tank. He never comes in, and that upsets you. You don’t feel his touch except for when he’s moving you from there to the pool with the biggest of the trio.

At least he takes his time when he does that. He pets you, checks your wound. He strokes your hair and tells you you’re the most viscous thing he’s ever had the pleasure to meet.

His Motherfucking Killer, he calls you. You like that. He calls you his. Claims you. He cares for you more than the Little One, and is more gentle than the Big One. Just right. He treats you just right.

Today, he calls you to him, using that weird power of his. You don’t understand it, but it helps him understand you, so it can’t be that bad. It tickles your pan a little, actually. A nice tickle. You trill, swimming quickly to where he’s waiting. He’s wearing the paint again, but you’re no longer scared of it. You know what he looks like without it and that’s all that matters.

You remember when he first showed you and your tail waves again as you float in front of him, noting his kind smile and returning it.

How he held you when you jumped into his arms. You want to experience that again. You want to experience more. More than just his kind touches, those pets, the hair stroking. You imagine it often, when you’re alone. When no one watches. Because you don’t want just anyone to watch you.

Just him. Only him.

You would gladly put yourself on display for him.

He’s talking to you though, and you try to focus. He asks how HIS Killer is doing, and you love his voice. You tell him you’re fine. You missed him. His smile broadens, showing a hint of sharp teeth that you want to feel sinking into the back of your neck as he claims you completely, and your earfins wiggle.

He places his hand against the glass and says he missed you too and you blush. He’s caressing the glass between you as if he were stroking down your tail and you could swear you felt it, his fingers against you, stroking one of your fins. They’re sensitive, and you feel yourself becoming aroused. You lower yourself slightly, so you’re face to face, shyly press your lips to your side of the glass, tell him you want to show him something, but oh what you wouldn’t give to feel his lips press back against yours, to have his tongue slip into your mouth, to taste him, feel his teeth pull at your lip.

But you will make do with this little innocent gesture as you float just a little higher, until you’re looking down at him. He’s level with your sex now.

You’re built differently. Special. You’re a male troll, yes. Like your father and brother. But there is something that sets the two eldest apart.

You lack bulges. Where your brother has two, which is normal for your kind, you and your father don’t even have one. Instead, you were both born with nooks that were extremely sensitive to make up for what you lacked. Others would complain, and you didn’t know how your father felt about his, but you liked yours. It felt more intimate to you somehow, but you were always a romantic.

He looks at you questioningly, ask what it is you want to show him, but you think e already knows. You hope he does. That he won’t turn away.

Slowly, you caress your neck, exposing it to him as you slide a hand down your body, stopping between your pelvic fins. Slowly, carefully, you spread open the lips of your nook, and he can see into your folds, slick with violet fluids.

There’s a sound of surprise and you snap your eyes shut, turn your face away from him, scared that this is where he’s going to sound disgusted, going send you away. You almost pull your hand away, but he speaks. Says it looks fucking beautiful. You crack open an eye and see he’s moved closer to the glass dividing you. He wants to see more, he says. He wants to see everything.

He tells you to move closer and you do, just inches from the glass. Carefully, minding your claws, you dip a finger into your quivering nook, your entire body shivering from heat to the tip of your fin. It hadn’t been long since you last touched yourself to the thought of him, but it feels different now. He’s there. Watching you. And it excited you more.

You press further into yourself, adding a second digit before pulling them out, lifting them to your face and dragging your tongue across them. Your juices are thick enough to not be washed away at once when exposed to the water around you and you taste your own sweetness.

He groans, presses his forehead against the clear wall and you chirp for his attention, which he gives readily. You continue to suck on your fingers, imagining them as his as you find your nook once again, pressing your fingers in as far as they can go.

Look at me. Look at only me. Please.

You’re begging for him now. To never turn his gaze away. To watch as you pleasure yourself for him, wishing it WAS him.

He’s silent as you continue to plead, but there’s a prodding in your pan. It makes this feel so much better, like he’s caressing your gills, your cheek, like his teeth are dragging just barely across your neck as your fingers pump faster.

Keep watching. Don’t turn away. Please, oh please do not turn away!

You continue to chirp, to trill out, voice rising in pleasure as you feel yourself reaching your peak. You stare into those flashing purple eyes, and they seem to hypnotize you, pulling you deeper into that swirling abyss that is Him. You shudder, beg for him one last time before he closes them, leans forward.

He licks your nook. You swear it, though he never moves past the glass, never physically touches you, you swear you feel his tongue slide across your dripping folds, lapping at your juices. You feel it again, this time inside you, moving deeper than your fingers could reach, rubbing against your inner walls as they spasm. Your body convulses and your voice rings out in one high, perfect note of pleasure. Of completion.

You feel him slurp up your juices before pulling back, licking his lips as if he actually could taste you, and you think he can. It wouldn’t surprise you.

But no. He is still there, still watching you with a pleased smirk on his painted face as you come down from your high, fingers and nook coated in violet slurry. Always only violet.

He chuckles, bringing you from your thoughts as he waves you to come down, face to face again, and you comply, face still flush. He presses his lips to the glass much as you had earlier. Tell you he loved your show. You were beautiful, gorgeous. His Wonderful Killer. You’re violet from face to wiggling earfin, and he winks.

Before he leaves, he promises that next time, he’ll be sure to give you a better hand. That he plans to do so much more than just watch you.

**Author's Note:**

> I am so fucking creative with titles, yo. Literally the best. Hahaha. Ha. And after two weeks of typing this up, I finally post it here.


End file.
